


Another Long and Lonely Night

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Depression, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Martin's sleeping in Jon's cot, surrounded by the things he's left behind, covered in the same blankets he's used; with enough imagination he can almost feel his presence. Is it any wonder that his mind keeps turning back to him despite his best efforts?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

It's late, and Martin is beyond exhausted, but he still can't sleep. He doesn't know the Archives like Jon, has never had occasion (or desire, frankly) to stay overnight. The cot beneath him is unfamiliar and hard, the blanket scratchy, and he twitches himself to full wakefulness at every noise. 

He turns over, cot creaking under his weight. Tries to lose himself in his head, to imagine something that will help him drift off, but his mind keeps returning to the events of the last week. Over and over he relives the hell that he'd been in, holed up in his flat, waiting for that - that _thing_ to get inside and rip him apart, or worse, slide inside of him, invade him the same way that it had invaded Prentiss, take him over…

There's a faint rustle and Martin jackknifes like he's on a spring, nearly spilling himself off of the cot altogether. He barely notices, eyes too busy flitting around, looking for the source of the noise. It takes him far too long to realize that he's made it himself, what he'd heard nothing more than the slide of his own clothing against the blanket as he'd shifted to a more comfortable position. 

Martin lays back down slowly, closing his eyes and trying to calm his still racing heart. _This is ridiculous,_ he thinks. _You're safe here, you know you are. And you_ need _to sleep. You need to be in top form tomorrow, or Jon'll-_

Jon will what, exactly? Kick him out? Martin doubts that very much, not after the way that he'd reacted to Martin's story. He thinks that Jon might actually cut him a bit of slack, but he doesn't want him to. He doesn't want to be weak in front of Jon; doesn't want him to look at him with pity.

He thinks about how fierce Jon had looked and sounded after he'd finished talking; how angry he'd been that something had dared come after him. He shifts again, but this time it's not out of discomfort, not quite. 

There is something that he could do to help himself drift off. The one thing that always works; the thing that he has studiously been avoiding even thinking about trying. _Not here_ , he thinks. It would be wrong, he's sure. He's not in his bedroom, this isn't his bed. It's Jon's, and Jon is only lending it to him because he has nowhere else to go, no family or friends to take him in. No one who would care if he-

_No._ Martin shakes his head, dispelling the thought. It doesn't go easy - it's a thought that's used to being banished, but it always takes longer at night, in the dark. 

But now he's depressed as well as scared, and he knows it's just an excuse but it does make it easier to allow himself to slide a hand down his own body, into his underwear. To tease himself into full hardness and curl the fingers of his other hand into the blanket beneath him.

He tries not to think of anything specific, he really does. But he's in the same cot that Jon's slept in when he's too exhausted to go home, under the same blanket that he no doubt has used, here because Jon insisted, and he can't help it. It's such a well-worn fantasy - Jon turning that intense focus on Martin, using it to bring him as much pleasure as possible, Martin being trusted to see what he looks like when he's completely undone - that he's halfway through it before he's even really aware, and by then it's too late to stop. He's too used to these thoughts, his body too used to the way he touches himself when he thinks them. He's already lost, already rocking into the motion of his own hand, breathing hard and shaking and coming apart to the sound of Jon’s voice (filled with desire rather than exasperation), to the feel of his fingers sliding over his length, his lips pressed to his lips, his neck, his chest. The only consideration he can manage for the location is to bite back the gasp of Jon’s name.

After, he's boneless, fully relaxed for the first time tonight. He knows that he needs to get up and clean himself off, knows that if Jon comes in early (and of course he will come in early; Jon practically lives in the Archives. The only reason he'd left at all was because Martin was taking up the space on his cot) then things will get very awkward, very quickly. But he's lethargic, dozy, and sleeping before he can do more than twitch the blanket in a halfhearted attempt to toss it off of his too-warm body. 

Martin sleeps, and when the recorder on the small desk across the room turns off with a soft click, he doesn't wake; doesn't so much as stir.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon practically bolts into his office, where he sits behind the desk, hands flat on the wood beneath him, and tells himself that he is not hiding. He isn't. He is just…making sure that Martin has plenty of time to cover himself up and compose himself; he's sure that the whole experience must have been embarrassing for him. He'd certainly gone red enough. Jon's mind flashes to just how far down that blush had spread, and he flinches away from it, pressing his hands harder into the desk. No. It was a - a regrettable incident, one that they will both put behind them and never speak of. Martin will compose himself, and Jon will sit here and - well, not compose himself exactly, he has no reason to need to -

Jon takes a deep breath. He'd been startled, that was all. Startled and a bit taken aback, although in hindsight he knows he shouldn't have been. Martin will be staying here for no one really knows how long; it would be absurd for Jon to expect him not to get more comfortable. And it was very early. After this they will both pay more attention to their surroundings, he's sure. It's fine.

There’s already a statement and a recorder at his desk. Jon is thankful for that much at least. He clears his throat, shuffles the paper, and presses record. Only his fingers must have missed, because instead of recording, the tape begins to play.

"Wh-" he starts, then hushes as rustling sounds begin to come from the device. There are no words, just the rustling, and then an all-too familiar creak as someone settles their weight into the cot in the next room. A small silence, then another, louder creak as the cot's occupant shifts, sighs, shifts again.

"This is ridiculous," a voice says, and for a moment Jon is certain it's his own, but then it continues, "You’re safe here. It's fine. Just go to sleep." Another shift, a deep sigh, and Jon finally understands what it is he is listening to. He has no idea how it got here, or why, but he does know that he should stop. This isn't something he needs to hear.

His fingers stop just shy of touching the recorder, however. He shouldn't listen to this, he knows, but it's harmless, really, and…he's curious. That's always been his downfall, hasn't it? That curiosity, that need to know more.

Jon takes his hand away from the recorder.

There isn't much to hear, not at first. Just Martin shifting around, trying to get comfortable, Jon supposes. He's a little offended. He's never had any trouble sleeping there, after all. The Archives actually feel more welcoming to him than his own flat, some nights, the cot more comfortable than his own mattress, which seems to grow lumps in new and interesting places at will. It bothers him that Martin seems to be having difficulty. Surely he can’t be pining for the flat he’d fled?

It's oddly soothing, listening to Martin try to slow breathe himself into sleep. Jon's eyes drift closed as he listens, matching their breathing without even thinking about it. He's almost asleep when the quality of the breathing changes, grows heavier, accompanied by a soft rustling noise. He frowns, eyes still closed, trying to place the sound.

"Oh," Martin says, gasps really, and Jon’s eyes fly open. "Oh, yes, yes, _please_."

Jon lurches forward, intending to turn the recorder off, he doesn’t want to hear this, but all he manages to do with his flailing is knock the thing off of the desk. Somehow the volume goes up; Martin's panting seems to fill the room until he lets out a short, bitten off cry - a name, perhaps? If so, Jon doesn't want to know (except of course he wants to know. He always wants to know, that’s his problem) - and then goes silent, breathing evening out and then deepening as he relaxes into sleep, and shortly after the tape recorder clicks off on its own.

Jon is frozen, bent half-over in an aborted attempt to reach the tape recorder. Unbidden, he sees Martin again as he was earlier, face and neck and chest red with embarrassment, biting at his lip as he stumbled backwards, out of Jon's sight. Only now his mind insists on adding that last noise in, that cut off gasp of a name, and he feels his own face heat.

_It's fine,_ he thinks. _Perfectly-perfectly normal. And I wasn't supposed to - he wouldn't have - he'd be. He wouldn't want me to._ He plucks the recorder off of the ground and sets it back on the desk a bit harder than he maybe needs to, rewinding the tape with a jab of his finger. When that is complete, he hits the record button and focuses on the statement and only the statement, forcing himself to think of nothing but the words on the page and not about how warm it suddenly feels in his office, or how his chair doesn’t seem to be quite as comfortable as usual, forcing him to shift restlessly as he reads.

It’s fine.


End file.
